


Shared Interests

by Peril_in_Peace



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 80's Music, Fluff, Gen, It's actually a nice moment, NO DEATHS, No Angst, No horrible feelings, Not sure how i pulled it off really, Pretty non-spoilery Infinity War scene, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 11:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peril_in_Peace/pseuds/Peril_in_Peace
Summary: The Guardians aren't used to hosting guests... but some shared cultural elements help break the ice.Takes place during Infinity War, but is pretty non-spoilery and is meant to be a light, fluffy moment in the face of much angst.





	Shared Interests

**Author's Note:**

> Songs: "Jack and Diane," John Mellencamp and "Sweet Dreams," Eurythmics
> 
> Please enjoy the fluff and get your mind off of horrible angst and death!

The grown-ups were talking.

Peter resisted the urge to swivel too much in the chair he’d plopped down in, as far to the edge of the meeting as he could. _That_ would have certainly been too childish. He knew he was in over his head, but he didn’t have to act like a second grader.

He glanced over at the ladder-stairs again, wondering if he could slip away as stealthily in real life as he could when it played out in his head. Looking out past it toward the windows at the front of the ship, he could see space… it was so much more colorful than he’d ever thought it would be.

Whereas looking around the room… ship... it was the same old story. Powerful people arguing.

Peter admired Mr. Stark. He really, really did. But Peter watched Tony cross his arms and shake his head and jab a finger at a screen, prompting Gamora to clench her jaw and growl and lean menacingly over the table…

Powerful people.

He still hadn’t quite gotten used to the idea of being one of them himself.

He sighed and caught Mantis’ eye. She smiled; small but warm, nodding her head in the direction of the cockpit ladder, as if she’d known just what he was thinking. 

Peter paused for a second, then slipped out of his chair. He thought he saw Tony raise an eyebrow at his motion, but either he was wrong, or it didn’t bother him enough to draw his attention away from Drax and Strange arguing over destination priorities.

He crept up the ladder, popping his head up between a couple of seats, rigged with screens and controls. Quill glanced at him, but otherwise didn’t really acknowledge him beyond a little headnod seeming to invite him to sit down somewhere.

He looked around the cockpit, eyes settling on what he would have figured was the passenger seat of a car (but on the wrong side-- _Not exactly in America_ or _driving in a car right now, though, Parker_ ). But it looked a little cramped.

“Uh…” he started, trying to work out how to sit in the weird, scrunched up space chair. At least the one downstairs was pretty normal. He looked at Quill, who seemed comfortable enough.

Quill gave him a puzzled look, before his face softened and eyes widened a little with understanding. “Oh, shit… sorry. It’s still set for Rocket. There’s a couple switches on the side there…” He pointed toward the bottom of the seat, at the metal support rig. Peter followed his finger until he saw a couple of orange toggles and almost touched them, before checking back for confirmation.

With his luck, he’d hit the wrong one, and end up ejected into space along with the seat.

Quill nodded, “Yeah--hit ‘em both and give it a sec.”

Peter flipped the switches and stepped back as a low whir started and the seat started to reconfigure, the backrest moving back and the seat and arms extending forward. “Is Rocket a little kid or something?”

Quill snorted. “What? No, of course not.” He seemed to think for a second, as Peter plopped into the seat once it seemed to stop. “Come to think of it, I’m not totally sure _how_ old he is,” he mused.

“What is he? I mean… what kind of alien?”

Quill’s lip curled. “Not one. I mean, from a Terran perspective. I’m 90% sure he’s a plain old earth raccoon.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Well… like… a _cyborg_ raccoon. But still.”

“Oh.” Peter nodded slowly. “That… makes sense.”

“And don’t call people aliens, man. It’s rude.”

“Oh, um. Sorry.”

Quill shrugged, but smiled like it was no big deal. He picked something up that had been wedged between his leg and the arm of his seat and wired to a console. A screen lit up as he pressed a button, then he set it on his knee.

Peter didn’t recognize the object. But then… he pretty much didn’t recognize anything on the ship. He sat back and tried to get comfortable, looking forward to the open space out the front window. He scrunched his eyebrows, straining to hear a small, tinny noise coming from Quill’s direction, then looked at the other man.

Quill hesitated, then tilted his head, plucking something from his other ear and fiddling with a cord until the sound came through the cabin’s speakers.

_“--Looking for something. Some of them want to use you. Some of them--”_

“--Want to get used by you. Some of them want to abuse you. Some of them want to be abused…” Peter sang softly, leaning back in the seat.

He propped his knee on one of the armrests, and could almost imagine he was in the car, listening to May sing really, _really_ badly, but grinning at her nonetheless.

He glanced over at Quill, smiling a little and half expecting May to be giggling back at him. But Quill had this faraway look on his face that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was one of those “wistful smiles” required reading authors kept going on about.

Except it sort of looked like Quill was trying to figure him out--face a little scrunched up and head tilted weird.

And then it was gone, and the next round of the same verse started again--because this was only the _easiest_ pop song to learn in the entire English language.

And they were both singing.

And Peter sat back and watched fricking _space_ fly by out the front window, and wondered how it was possible that he felt even a _little_ bit at home.

The song was already halfway over and Quill stopped it with a press to his device. They sat in silence for a minute, before Quill spoke up.

“Kinda figured… I dunno… sort of old stuff for you, isn’t it?” he asked, squinting a little self-consciously. Peter shook his head.

“Eurythmics, man,” he answered, as if that was all that needed to be said.  

It seemed to be enough for Quill, who looked down at his device, then tossed it over to him, cord looping and dragging across the floor. 

“Pick something,” he said.

Peter looked down at the device, relieved to find a familiar Microsoft logo, but otherwise…

He tapped the screen reflexively, then rolled his eyes and hit one of the buttons below it, lighting it up with a “how quaint” mumbled under his breath in a half-assed Scotty impression.

Peter kept clicking through the “Awesome Mix Vol. 3” playlist until he found something he knew pretty well, then pressed play.

_“Little ditty ‘bout Jack and Diane. Two American kids growin' up in the heartland...”_

“Fan of the classics?” Quill grinned.

“Fan of what’s good,” Peter shrugged.

Quill reached over to his screen and slid his finger across the top, raising the volume.

* * *

Gamora couldn’t push down a swell of relief. She ducked her head and smiled a bit, ignoring whatever asinine idea Stark was going on about.

First Thor--of course he was still touchy about anyone calling himself a _god_ … and then the first terrans he’d seen since he was a child. In space because of a direct threat to his homeworld.

She was not surprised Peter had retreated to be alone in the cockpit. Piloting was something he loved to do, did well and found comfort in. In a way, Gamora was a little proud… she could see him fighting more and more with himself to keep from snapping at someone. And he’d made a choice to step away before… saying something that would make a bad situation even worse.

Gamora sort of wished Stark would consider making the same call.

She looked across the table at him, but he’d gone quiet, listening to the music wafting down from the cockpit.

“Springsteen?” he mused, perfectly sculpted brows furrowing. Gamora rolled her eyes.

“John Mellencamp,” she answered, waving her hand dismissively, as she realized a little too late that Drax, Mantis and the sorcerer had all replied right along with her. They looked at each other, before Strange threw Stark a scandalized look.

“Really? _Springsteen_?” Strange asked. Stark threw up his hands defensively.

“ _Sorry_ , jeez,” he answered. “Never really went in for that folksy shit.”

“No appreciation for the classics…” Strange mumbled and caught Gamora’s eye across the table.

“No appreciation for the classics,” she agreed, smiling.


End file.
